


If You Wanna Be My Lover

by Irrevocably_Sherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Missing Scene, No wedding nonsense, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tsot fix it, gay bar scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 23:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6097001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/pseuds/Irrevocably_Sherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>John had lost count. This was either the fourth or fifth pint he had consumed in the time they’d been here. Not to mention the couple of chasers he’d downed, the amber liquid burning down his throat and filling his veins with a fire and a courage he normally wouldn’t possess. Otherwise, how could he explain why he was currently leaning against the bar in one of Soho’s seedier gay clubs watching the lights play off Sherlock’s face and wondering what it would be like to lick the sweat off that sinfully long neck.</em>
</p>
<p>What happened at the gay bar the boys went to? And what should have happened after....</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Wanna Be My Lover

**Author's Note:**

> So this started after all the gay bar images and discussion that sparked on Tumblr on Sunday. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Come find me on my tumblr [Snogbox1](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/)

John had lost count. This was either the fourth or fifth pint he had consumed in the time they’d been here. Not to mention the couple of chasers he’d downed, the amber liquid burning down his throat and filling his veins with a fire and a courage he normally wouldn’t possess. Otherwise, how could he explain why he was currently leaning against the bar in one of Soho’s seedier gay clubs watching the lights play off Sherlock’s face and wondering what it would be like to lick the sweat off that sinfully long neck. Or to drag his friend out on the floor and find out what that body felt like pressed up against his own. What that delicious arse would feel like nestled up against his groin. 

John groaned quietly and lifted the pint glass to his lips, eyeing Sherlock over the top. For his part, Sherlock appeared to be completely oblivious to the inner workings of John’s head, downing his own drink and tapping with his gorgeously long fingers on his mobile. He also, thankfully, was oblivious to the dozen or so other men who apparently had the same ideas as John running through their heads. John had been throwing his best _sod off_ glares left and right, but that didn’t stop the looks, the downright lusty leers thrown in Sherlock’s direction all night. The man was too bloody attractive for his own good. And John needed to get him out of here before either one of the men, or John himself, broke. 

Just as John was about to open his mouth to say either _let’s go_ , or _let’s dance_ , he’s honestly not sure what would have come out, a rather fit blond bloke approached Sherlock, leaning down to murmur something only he could hear. Sherlock’s eyes went wide as he scrutinized the man beside him, and John waited for the inevitable put down, a small smile starting to form on his face. But then, the most unusual thing happened. Sherlock took off his coat, and his suit jacket and nodded at the man before turning back to John. 

“I’ll be right back, John,” He said, slight slur in his words. 

John could only stare, mouth agape as Sherlock and blondie made their way to the dance floor. His mouth closed with a click and a clench of his jaw when blondie’s hand trailed from Sherlock’s shoulder to the swell of his arse. _That son of a -_ But then all breath left his lungs as he watched Sherlock, his best friend, reach the dance floor and begin to move. And dear god, could he move. John trailed his eyes over slim hips in motion, those bespoke trousers pulled taut over that luscious arse, back up to the thin fabric of that already too tight shirt pulled even tighter across Sherlock’s chest as he rolled and flexed in time with the beat. John’s mouth went dry, and every drop of blood in his body rushed straight to his cock at the sight. Sherlock was breathtaking. And god, John wanted. But he was still unsure of Sherlock’s feelings on the matter. He seemed to be enjoying blondie’s attention, the two were moving closer to one another with each beat of the music, the other bloke’s hands grasping onto sharp hipbones as he pressed in from behind. John never even realized Sherlock did this sort of thing, but here was the proof right in front of his eyes. _Should have taken him out drinking sooner._

Just then, blondie grabbed Sherlock and pressed their bodies flush together, causing Sherlock to freeze and struggle a bit, and John saw red. He pushed off the bar and stalked across the floor grabbing the blonde wanker by the collar of his tank top and practically throwing him off of Sherlock. The man had at least two stone on him, but John had anger and a healthy dose of barely-contained jealousy on his side, and one look at his face and blondie scurried off. John turned around to find Sherlock staring down at him, a mixture of confusion and something else John couldn’t read on his face. 

“You alright?” John asked loud enough to be heard over the music. Sherlock nodded, not moving from the spot. John swallowed. “That guy was an arse. But, Jesus, Sherlock - you, well, I didn’t realize you could move like that,” John rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the floor. 

“You asking me to dance, John?” 

John snapped his head up to meet Sherlock’s eyes, focused hotly on his. He was smirking, and as John watched, that lithe body started to move again, dips and rolls that had him shaking with the effort not to join in. He held out for all of a minute before saying “Fuck it,” and stepping in to Sherlock’s space, moving his own body in time with the pop beat coming from the speakers. John may not be able to waltz, but he’d never had a problem with this kind of dancing. 

Sherlock laughed, _who is this man?_ , and turned around, giving John a rather generous view of backside. “Good,” he called over his shoulder. “I like this song.”

John laughed as he stepped up closer, placing his hands on those hips that he’d envied blondie touching earlier. “You know the Spice Girls? I would have thought you’d deleted it.”

“Shut up, John and dance.”

_If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends_

Isn’t that ironic, mused John, as he pressed closer behind Sherlock, wrapping his hands tighter around his waist. He was close enough to see the sweat glistening at the nape of Sherlock’s neck, making those infuriating curls wet and stick ever so slightly to the damp skin. John’s mouth watered as he imagined running his tongue over that pale expanse, learning the taste of him. Being this close to Sherlock was intoxicating and arousing. It wasn’t helping that every once in a while Sherlock’s arse would brush against John’s groin, and he had to bite his lip to keep from groaning out loud at the contact. 

_Make it last forever friendship never ends_

Without warning, Sherlock stepped back and pressed his body solidly into John’s. John reacted as if he’d been burned, sparks flaring across his skin at every point of contact. He exhaled a breath which turned into a gasp as Sherlock reached back and grabbed at his upper thigh, pulling him closer still. It was Sherlock’s turn to gasp as he felt John’s very present erection dig into his flesh. John attempted to move away, when Sherlock surprised him again for the second time that night. He placed his hands over John’s, and slowly, deliberately, moved them lower towards his pelvis, until they were resting over his own prominent bulge. John groaned, and palmed the flesh under his hand lightly, causing Sherlock to throw his head back and rest on John’s shoulder. At the same time, Sherlock bent his knees slightly, causing John’s cock to come into contact with the cleft of his arse, a breathless “oh” escaping Sherlock’s lips. 

John’s resolve snapped. The knowledge that Sherlock obviously wanted him was enough to let him act on at least one of his many fantasies. Turning his head to the side, he pressed a sloppy open mouthed kiss to the part of Sherlock’s neck he could reach, his tongue coming out to lap at that alabaster skin. Sherlock melted into John, angling his head to give him room, and pushing his straining member further into John’s hand. 

“John,” Sherlock breathed. John moaned, the sound muffled by Sherlock’s skin. The two of them were still making a pretense of dancing, there was some movement, but any further and it was going to cross into public indecency. John slid his hands off Sherlock’s cock, causing Sherlock to whimper in protest, and spun him around. Sherlock’s eyes were blown, nearly all pupil, his chest heaving. John reached up and threaded his hands through those curls he’d dreamed of touching for so long and pulled his head down, until his lips were just a breath away. “You want this?”

“Kiss me, John, please.”

John did just that, sealing his lips over Sherlock’s, and wasting no time running his tongue along the seam. Sherlock moaned, and John licked inside, tasting the sound and chasing more. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders and held on as John ravished his mouth again and again. With one final bite to that lower lip, John pulled back, observing his handiwork. Sherlock looked wrecked. And beautiful. Lips swollen, hair mused.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded, and they moved off the dance floor, John allowing his hands to wander down Sherlock’s back to his arse as they walked. Sherlock threw on his Belstaff quickly, throwing his suit jacket over his arm and turned around to fist a hand in John’s shirt and slam their mouths back together. John groaned and pressed back, giving as good as he was getting. He broke away, panting, “Baker Street? Now.” Sherlock nodded, grabbing his hand and moving towards the door. 

John was so lost in his fantasies of how the rest of the night was going to go that he completely missed the thumb’s up that Sherlock threw blondie as they rushed through the club door. 

+++++++

John was grateful for Sherlock’s ability to summon cabs on command. He was thrumming with pent up arousal, desire for Sherlock racing through his blood. The groping and quick snog they had shared in the club was just the spark that had set everything aflame, and now he was on fire. He hoped that the cab ride back to Baker Street would be a quick one. 

He climbed in after Sherlock and pressed his body to the window, trying to fight every urge that was telling him to get closer to the man next to him. Sherlock was tense, the energy rolling off him in waves that John could practically feel vibrating against his skin. John risked a glance, a mistake, and found Sherlock watching him, tracking his every movement, those luminescent eyes heavy-lidded and hot on his own. John sucked in a shaky breath and wet his lips, watching as Sherlock traced every movement of his tongue before snapping his gaze back up. It was enough to make John lose the tenuous grip on his control and scoot closer to Sherlock, stopping only when their thighs pressed together. 

John placed his hand on Sherlock’s knee, and slid slowly upward, his thumb tracing circles on the firm muscles under his fingers. Sherlock melted into the seat, shifting his hips forward, letting out a breathy sigh. The movement caused John’s hand to slide further up that long expanse of thigh, and John took advantage, running his fingertips up the inseam of Sherlock’s trousers, scratching lightly with his fingernail. Sherlock shifted and leaned over, nuzzling John’s head. It was strangely sweet, and John couldn’t resist, tilting his head up and capturing Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock immediately deepened the kiss, rubbing his tongue against John’s. And christ, the sounds he made. Each moan, gasp, sigh, John could taste them all, and each one was like a live wire attached directly to his groin. Sherlock was practically crawling in his lap and John had completely forgotten they were in the back of a cab until a sharp rap on the ceiling alerted him to another presence. 

“Hey! None of that or I’ll toss you out!”

John reluctantly pulled away, breathing hard, his forehead resting on Sherlock’s. “Jesus, Sherlock,” he panted. 

“Indeed,” Sherlock breathed, placing his hand over John’s where it rested high on his thigh. John could feel the muscles flex under his skin, and John had to pause for a minute to adjust himself in his jeans, Sherlock tracing the movement with barely contained heat in his eyes. Sherlock slid his hand over to John’s thigh and walked his graceful fingers up the denim, brushing lightly over his straining erection, that damnable smirk playing on his lips. John moaned quietly, his hips shifting of their own accord, pressing his clothed cock into Sherlock’s palm. He glanced towards the front of the cab, but the driver luckily couldn’t see, the mirror angle all wrong. Still, John had never wanted a cab ride over faster in his life. 

Blissfully they pulled up at the curb in front of 221b before much more could occur, which is a close thing, because honestly John was about to attack Sherlock again, cabbie or no. They climbed out, and John tossed enough money at the cabbie to make him forget what he saw. Sherlock fumbled with the door, and John couldn’t resist, pressing up against that lanky body and wrapping his arms around his waist to palm at Sherlock’s cock through his trousers. Sherlock growled, finally getting the door open and they surged inside, Sherlock immediately spinning around and claiming John’s mouth. John moaned into the kiss, and pushed Sherlock until his back hit the wall, pressing his body against his until they were connected thigh to chest. Sherlock snaked his hands around John’s hips to grab at John’s arse and pull him closer, bending his knees slightly to align their erections. He whimpered into John’s mouth when John sucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit lightly, his hips rutting against Sherlock’s of their own accord. John broke away, needing to have that neck under his mouth, his tongue. It tasted just the way he always imagined, musky and sweet, and slightly tangy, just like the man himself. He pressed open mouthed kisses down that long column, pausing to suck a mark into pale skin. Sherlock tilted his head to the side and grabbed at John’s head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“John, god,” he cried, his body squirming harder under John’s touch. 

“Upstairs?” John pressed the question into Sherlock’s skin, his hands digging harder into those sharp hips. 

Sherlock pushed himself off the wall and barrelled up the stairs, stripping off his Belstaff the minute he crossed the threshold. John was right behind him, shucking his own coat and shoes, before locking the door, and threading his fingers into Sherlock’s hair. The kiss was instantly hot and wet, tongues meeting, stroking, sucking as they backed further into the room. Clothes were shed, buttons flying in all directions as they made their way to the bedroom. John stopped them just before the doorway, backing Sherlock against the wall and swirling a tongue around one nipple, feeling the pale nub harden under his touch. Sherlock moaned and grabbed at John’s head, rutting his hips harder. 

“Bedroom,” he panted, pushing John towards the door. 

Once inside, Sherlock pushed John back on the bed then stipped his pants off and crawled over him, pressing kisses to John’s chest and neck. John grabbed Sherlock and pulled him down, needing friction on his aching cock. He let out a moan of pure desire and delight at the feel of Sherlock’s body pressed along his own. God, how had he imagined this. But he wanted to see him. Quickly, John planted one foot on the bed and flipped them over, swallowing Sherlock’s “oof” of surprise, and settled himself between his spread thighs. He leaned up on his elbows and let his eyes wander over Sherlock, his hair splayed across the pillow, a beautiful flush spreading over that pale skin, eyes blown wide with arousal, and John’s heart clenched at the sight. He was perfect. 

“John?” Sherlock reached up to run his hands along John’s jaw, his brow crinkling in confusion. 

“You’re beautiful, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock’s eyes softened as his fingers tightened in John’s hair, pulling him down to claim his mouth. But compared to the frantic, heated kisses they’d shared, this one was softer, more tender, slower. John sighed into the kiss, his body pressing Sherlock’s into the mattress, their hips rolling together in a slow rhythm. It was almost like the dance they shared, each moving with the other in a synchronized beat. John never wanted it to end. Sherlock lifted one long leg and wrapped it over John’s hip as he thrusted harder and harder, moans and whimpers and sighs rumbling from deep within his throat and swallowed by John. It was glorious, but not enough, John needed more. He reached down between them, wrapping a hand around them both, smearing the pre-come around their lengths and stroking in time to their thrusts. 

“John,” Sherlock cried, as John’s fist closed around them. “I’m not going to - oh, god.” He arched into John’s hand, his cock pulsing thick and hard as his came, pulse after pulse shooting between them. 

“Fuck, Sherlock, fuck -” John groaned, releasing Sherlock’s sensitive flesh and wrapping the hand still warm with his release around his own cock. “You’re gorgeous, perfect -” John panted his fist moving faster over his length. It only took five or six more strokes before his orgasm barreled down on him, his release shooting over Sherlock’s pelvis, his stomach. He didn’t think he had ever seen a more gorgeous sight. “Christ.” With a groan, John collapsed boneless on top of Sherlock, his arms coming up to cradle his shoulders, Sherlock’s arms wrapping around his waist. 

John laid there remembering how to breathe, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal. He figured he should probably move, clean up a bit, but at the moment, he couldn't begin to muster up the energy. This, this is all he wanted. Sherlock, in his arms. And he didn’t ever want to let go. Sherlock squirmed a bit underneath him, and John moved off, slipping to the side and grabbing the nearest item of clothing, his pants, to clean off himself then passed it to Sherlock to do the same. Sherlock tossed the pants over the bed, and rolled to face John. For all his bravado all evening, he suddenly looked small and unsure. 

John brushed his knuckles over one cheekbone. “Sherlock, can I - ”

“Stay?” 

John smiled. “Yeah. Can I?”

Sherlock swallowed. “Just for the night, or -?” 

John looked into those pale eyes and he knew, suddenly what the answer was, what he wanted. “Sherlock, I’d like to stay for good. Forever, if you’ll have me.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath, his eyes searching John’s face. He grabbed John’s hand where it lay between them on the mattress, threading their fingers together. John rubbed his thumb over Sherlock’s skin and waited. After a couple minutes, Sherlock seemed to find what he needed. He smiled, bringing their joined hands to his mouth and kissing John’s knuckles. 

“Forever,” he agreed. 


End file.
